


I Put A Spell On You

by drarrydarling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A teeny tiny amount, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Fluff, Halloween, Harry is a Total Idiot, M/M, Mild Angst, Mirror Sex, Top!Harry, bottom!Draco, halloween party, he also swears a lot, ridiculous costumes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27462805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarrydarling/pseuds/drarrydarling
Summary: Because you're mine, idiot.(Or, Harry gets hit with a powerful lust spell and can’t seem to shake it.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 28
Kudos: 379





	I Put A Spell On You

**Author's Note:**

> Silly Halloween fic in November, anyone? 
> 
> Dedicated to Fifi, who believes in me more than I believe in myself, and Karina, who’s listened to me ranting about this fic for over a month <3 
> 
> Unbetaed, so any mistakes are my own!
> 
> Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR and any associated publishers/corporations, it is (unfortunately) not my intellectual property. 
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from the 1956 song of the same name by Screamin' Jay Hawkins, although it was actually the 2014 Annie Lennox cover that inspired this entire story- if you listen to it while you read, the whole thing improves by about 99% :)

As Harry stepped out of the Floo into what was normally Ron and Hermione’s open-plan living room, stood now in a makeshift nightclub, his first thought was, _‘oh fuck, I should have worn a better costume.’_

Thick cobwebs had been draped over every bookshelf, small tables laden with flickering pumpkins, the ceiling swirling with dark, enchanted storm clouds. Red candles cast a low, warm glow over the room and its occupants, who swarmed in front of him, a colourful sea of unidentifiable people. The air buzzed with sound; guests were drinking, laughing, dancing (although that was just one woman, her leaf-tangled blonde hair sweeping the floor as she spun), their identities obscured by scarily realistic, magically enhanced costumes.

He looked down at his own plain, Muggle suit, brushing off a speck of soot and almost (but not quite) wishing he’d taken Ginny’s advice and come as ‘Sexy Voldemort’.

At least he would have blended in.

As if summoned by his maudlin thoughts, Ron- a very hairy, very wolf-like Ron- appeared, sausage roll in one hand, cocktail glass in the other. This, he offered to Harry, who took it readily.

“So, what the hell are you supposed to be?”

“What?” Harry, caught off guard by the blunt greeting and the drink in his hand, which he swore was not only smoking but changing colour, blinked. “ _Oh_. Clark Kent.”

A pause. Then, “who?”

Harry looked at him incredulously. "Clark Kent. You know, Superman? The glasses?” He gestured to his suit and tie. “Surely you know Superman?”

Ron just shook his head, taking a bite of the sausage roll, pastry flakes falling and sticking to his fur. “Sorry, mate, I don’t get it. You just look normal. A bit fancier than normal, mind, with the suit and everything—”

“Oh, for goodness sake, will you leave him alone? He’s only just got here,” Hermione chided, swatting Ron on the arm as she situated herself in between the two of them- or at least tried to, the skirt of her huge satin gown taking up more space than the three of them combined.

“Hello, love,’ she greeted, kissing him on the cheek, her large Georgian-style wig wobbling precariously. “I think you look very handsome. Not at _all_ like an accountant.” Giggling at the look he gave her, she took a sip of her drink, before pulling a face. “God, this non-alcoholic stuff really is awful... oh I’m _joking_ Harry, you look lovely as always. And Ron, yes you _do_ know Superman, we watched it on the television a while ago." She blushed slightly, before adding, "he’s the rather gorgeous man in the cape, remember?”

Ron’s eyes widened for a second, and then he scowled. “I’d forgotten about that. If you weren’t pregnant with _my_ child, I’d be worried. Bloody handsome Muggles.” He looked Harry up and down, Hermione’s snort of laughter going unnoticed, his extra fury brows furrowed. “So where’s your cape then?”

Thankfully, Harry was saved from justifying his cape-less attire by the arrival of Luna, who'd drifted over from the dance floor. In addition to the lengthened, leaf-strewn hair he’d noticed a few minutes earlier, her ears had been transfigured so they were pointed at the tips, and she wore a gauzy white dress that brushed the tops of her bare feet. A string of what looked like sprouts dangled around her neck, which for once Harry thought complimented her outfit quite nicely. 

“Oh, hello Harry! It’s lovely to see you,” she said, smiling serenely, “what an _interesting_ costume.” Ron snickered as she ran a finger down the lapel of Harry’s jacket, before she glanced around, clearly looking for someone. “Ginny should be here somewhere, she was just fetching me a drink—”

On cue, Ginny squeezed her way into the group, two glasses floating in her wake. She looked beautiful in a black, backless gown, it's dainty straps highlighting her exposed collarbones, silver beaded bracelets decorating her wrists. Harry did a double take: not because of the extremely low cut of her dress _or_ the lengthy split up her thigh, but because her pale, freckled skin had been charmed a shockingly lurid green.

She was also carrying an old, battered broomstick.

“Ginny, what the fuck?”

She cackled- fitting, really- and adjusted the pointy black hat on her head. “Oh, isn’t it funny! Why the hell do Muggles think we wear these? I was going to do the nose too- you know, all long and warty- but Luna said it reminded her too much of Snape.”

“Oh, yes,” Luna interjected, absentmindedly stroking a sprout, “it was really rather horrifying. Quite fitting for All Hallows’ Eve, I suppose, but I just couldn’t bring myself to kiss her.”

“We compromised with the green…Muggles _are_ strange, aren’t they? The only green witch I’ve ever met was Gwen, and that’s because she ate a dodgy sausage sandwich ten minutes before a game, and there was _nothing_ funny about that.” She paused, nose wrinkling as the group laughed, before wrapping an arm around Luna’s waist and turning her attention to Harry. “The real question here is why _you_ decided to come as a dentist.”

Harry began to choke on his drink, spluttering embarrassingly, ready to explain that dentists wear lab coats, not suits, and that he _wasn’t dressed as a bloody dentist anyway_. His near-tirade was thwarted with a pointed look from Hermione, who’d settled a placating hand on his arm and appeared to be reading from an invisible textbook.

“It’s actually very interesting,” she began loudly, and Ron groaned, burying his face in his hand (or, paws). “Theories date all the way back to fourth-century China, where the hats were supposedly first discovered, but the green originated from The Wizard of Oz- _a Muggle movie, Ron_ \- in 1939, so really quite recent. Isn’t it funny, how often I used to watch that growing up, yet still had no idea I—”

Ron leant behind her as she spoke, tapping Harry on the arm and nodding towards the kitchen. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t find out what was so funny about the Wizard of Oz, because they broke away from the group, Hermione’s history lesson soon fading as they moved through the small crowd. The wireless was floating in the corner, amplified and blasting The Weird Sisters’ latest release- _‘how can I compete, when he’s hung like a hippogriff?’_ \- so loud the floor underneath Harry’s feet vibrated.

Making a mental note to buy the record, Harry grinned at a zombie who was stood near the punch bowl chatting to a bloodstained, red-headed priest- _ah, the Holy Weasley_ \- before edging round Zabini, who didn’t appear to be dressed as anything at all. His maroon velvet suit put Harry’s to shame, and he scowled, unsure why the pretentious git had been invited anyway.

Following Ron into the kitchen, where he’d already begun devouring a finger sandwich and piling a load of Muggle buffet food onto a paper plate, Harry wondered if Clark Kent hadn't been such a good idea after all.

“So, ‘ow are you doin’ then?” Ron asked, still chewing, eyes filled with concern. Swallowing his food down with a swig of Butterbeer, he leant forward, beckoning Harry closer with a claw and lowering his voice. “You know, with Malfoy? He’s here somewhere, he arrived with Parkinson about half an hour ago.”

Oh.

Harry couldn’t quite stop the bitterness that surged through him, scolding himself inwardly, knowing there was no need to be jealous- after all, both Draco and Pansy were as bent as a rainbow, so very unlikely to be coupling up.

That, and Draco had walked out on him over three months earlier, so he was in no position to claim stakes.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” he insisted, rolling his eyes at Ron’s look of disbelief. "Really, Ron, it’s ok. I didn’t even realise he was here.”

That was a lie, as he’d clocked Draco the minute he’d stepped through the fireplace, although it wasn’t as though he could help it- Draco had spelled his distinctive blonde hair a dazzlingly bright white, which shone almost luminescent in the low light- a _blind_ person would have spotted him.

If he’d also noticed the mini quiche Draco had picked up- ham, not cheese- and the small, silver pendant hanging around his neck, then that was neither here nor there.

Force of habit, nothing more.

Nothing to concern Ron with.

Harry had prepared all afternoon for an ambush from his friends, knowing they were getting impatient; he and Draco hadn’t seen each other since that day a few months prior, when Draco had silently packed a bag, cheeks stained with tears, ignoring Harry’s protests. Harry had refused to talk about it since, never a fan of discussing his feelings and not wanting to drag it out. He hadn’t, however, missed the small looks they'd give each other when he brushed them off, or the whispered conversations that would end abruptly when he entered a room, so knew it had only been a matter of time. 

“Are you sure, mate? I didn’t want to invite him, but you know how him and Hermione are…”

Ron trailed off and Harry could feel his eyes on the back of his head as he scanned the room, finally landing on Draco, who was leaning casually against the mantlepiece. As if he could feel Harry's eyes on him, his head jerked up and Harry looked away quickly, cheeks heating.

Because fuck, Draco looked good.

Bloody exquisite, for lack of a better term.

Harry assumed he’d come as a ghost, although the notion was far fetched; no bedsheet in sight, only a pair of skin-tight white leather trousers, a shirt, unbuttoned and almost transparent tucked into them, and as if the trousers didn’t draw enough attention to his arse, a pair of six-inch heels. His hair was tousled in the messy way Harry liked- _had_ liked, rather- and he twirled the silver pendant with one hand, chatting animatedly to Pansy, his head thrown back on a laugh every thirty seconds.

Harry had almost forgotten what that looked like.

Eyes burning, he looked away, blushing slightly under Ron's gaze, which had turned overly sympathetic.

“I told you, I’m fine, Ron.”

If Ron doubted his sincerity, he didn’t comment, instead picking up a large bowl of crisps. “Yeah, okay, sure… look, have some food, and just avoid him, ok? I’m going to check on Hermione, but you wait here, I’ll just be a minute.” Shoving the bowl into Harry’s hands and giving him a small smile, Ron grabbed his plate and strode away, edging around people back towards his wife.

Harry cursed under his breath, feeling ridiculous- despite his efforts, Ron was just as appalling when it came to _proper conversations_ as he was, and was no doubt off to ask Hermione for advice, or worse, send her over for a heart-to-heart. Harry loved his friends, he really did, but there was a time and a place for crying into a bottle of Odgen’s, and tonight was not it.

Shovelling a handful of crisps into his mouth and feeling considerably sorry for himself, he looked up, and to his surprise locked eyes with Draco, who was now stood alone and staring right at him.

Then two things happened at once.

Draco blinked.

Harry nearly came on the spot.

 _Literally_.

His whole body lit up, nerve endings on fire, cock instantly, painfully hard. The force of it propelled him backwards, arse colliding with the counter behind him, all the air leaving his lungs at once. His skin _burned_ with arousal, and the overwhelming impulse to yank his trousers down and have one off in the middle of the kitchen was so strong he had to shut his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

Fuck.

He wasn’t stupid, and he knew a lust spell when he felt one (he’d become well acquainted with them after the war when, for a while, it had been difficult to walk down Diagon Alley without ending up with a cursed erection), and the intense tingling feeling shooting up and down his spine- among other places- was a tell-tale sign.

The urge to walk over and fuck Draco silly in public was too, especially since they were no longer together and surrounded by most, if not all, of the people he knew (including Arthur and Molly, two people he could live without ever seeing his naked arse).

Head spinning, he planted his feet more firmly on the ground, arm thrown out to steady himself against the kitchen island. There was no counter spell he could cast, but he willed himself to ignore it, knowing he just needed to get out of the room- some fresh air and a glass of water would help, as long as he avoided Draco at all costs. Simple.

Harry had quickly learnt from his short, twenty-six years on Earth that life is _very rarely_ simple.

His feet, seemingly guided by his imprecated cock rather than his slightly more rational brain, decided to take control, beginning an awkward shuffle back across the room, away from the sanctuary of salty buffet food and towards the unfairly gorgeous prick in front of him.

God, he shouldn't have thought about his prick.

Now he wanted to _see_ it, the gentle curve of it, the soft, perfectly round balls hanging snuggly beneath; wanted to pull it out and run his thumb over the rosy, leaking head he knew the taste of so well; wanted to drop to his knees and go to town in front of everyone he'd ever met.

 _Fuck_.

Trust Draco to bloody curse him the first time they’d been in the same room together since…well, since the day he moved back into the Manor, Harry supposed...although it _did_ seem a bit dramatic, even for him. 

Harry would have questioned it further if he wasn’t on the verge of coming in his trousers, and he just didn’t have the energy for both.

Draco watched him as he approached, eyebrows raised, an amused smirk dancing across his lips- although, as he drew closer, Harry could see a slight flicker of anxiety behind his eyes, something few people would pick up on, but was glaringly obvious to him.

Maybe Draco hadn’t counted on confrontation- which was daft, given the typical side effects of the spell- but confrontation was what he was going to get.

Except...Harry’s mouth refused to cooperate. His tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth, and rather than the “hello, Draco” he’d been planning, all that came out was an undignified “nggggh.”

Fucking fuck _fuck_.

Tongue-binding curse too, he suspected. Very clever.

Draco took an overly long sip of his smoking cocktail, eyes never leaving Harry’s, before placing it down on the mantle behind him, tongue tracing his top lip. To Harry’s horror, his traitorous eyes tracked the movement, and Draco’s lips quirked.

“Dignified as ever, I see- can I help you, Potter?”

Harry couldn’t help thinking that yes, he most definitely could, before gaining control over his raging, magically enhanced libido- and, luckily, his poor cursed tongue. “I think we need to talk, Draco-” he said, giving him a pointed look, “- somewhere more private, possibly?”

Draco’s eye’s narrowed slightly, raking the length of Harry’s suit-clad body, before he shook his head. “No, I don’t think we do. Care to dance?”

He grabbed Harry by the upper arm, yanking him away from the mantle and towards the middle of the room, not glancing back as Harry tripped over his own feet in his haste to follow, or giving him the opportunity to refuse. Not that he was planning on it anyway, because his cock practically sung with excitement at their proximity, Draco’s grip on his arm soothing his prickling skin. At that moment he knew, without a doubt, that he would do anything Draco wanted him to.

Apparently, that included dancing.

Draco spun them to an abrupt stop, sliding his arms around Harry’s neck, drawing them close together. Sliding a long, heeled leg between Harry’s, he began to undulate slowly in time to the music, light fingers playing with the hair at Harry’s nape.

Harry’s arms hung limply by his sides as his cock _throbbed_ , heat coursing through him, desperate to sink his teeth into Draco’s exposed neck, to rip the flimsy shirt straight from his body, to wrap those ridiculously sexy legs around his waist and take him right where they stood. Instead, he stood stock-still, very aware of the twenty or so eyes on them, heart pounding, head spinning, intoxicated.

“Draco,” he murmured groggily, breathing heavily through his nose, “what the fuck are you doing?”

All he received in response was an eye roll, before Draco turned, pressing his back to Harry’s chest. Instinctively Harry’s hands came up to grip his waist, pulling them flush together, gyrating his hips slightly and drawing a low hum from Draco.

He felt dizzy, harder than he had ever been in his life, and Draco knew, if the smirk Harry caught a glimpse of when he tossed his head back onto Harry’s shoulder was anything to go by.

In his defence, it was impossible to hide, because Draco had situated his leather-clad arse right against Harry’s groin.

“Did you- did you spell these white? I don’t remember these,” he asked, plucking at Draco’s waistband, trying hard to remain casual and trying _harder_ to ignore the raging situation in his trousers. Draco scoffed, fruity breath tickling Harry’s cheek as he turned his head to glare at him with disdain.

“I’d forgotten how hopeless you are when it comes to fashion, Potter,” Draco murmured. “Actually, no, I hadn’t, but that’s a truly stupid question, even for you. These are high-quality patent leather- _very_ rare- so no I did not spell them white. They are white. You can’t cast spells on clothes this expensive. Well, you probably would- but you shouldn’t.” He sighed dramatically, twisting in Harry’s arms so they were facing each other once again, before leaning in close, soft, pink lips just mere centimetres from Harry’s.

“Now, are you going to keep asking daft questions about my trousers, or are we going to go somewhere more…private, like you suggested?” He tilted his head, warm breath ghosting Harry’s cheek, before brushing his lips gently against his ear, which began to tingle. “People are watching, you know, and your dancing is _truly_ appalling.’”

The steady, sultry music rose to a crescendo, where it broke, as did Harry’s restraint. Releasing a hand from Draco's waist, he slid it into his hair, tugging his head far enough back so that he could smash their lips together. Harry heard Draco groan as he thrust his tongue inelegantly between his plump, glossy lips, and Draco surged against him, kissing back with just as much force. In retaliation, he bit down, feeling Draco’s bottom lip crunch under his teeth.

He felt, more than heard, Draco’s startled gasp, which tore him out of the mortifying burst of desire; stumbling back, he wiped a hand across his lips, tasting blood. Body thrumming with arousal but trembling with anger, he grasped Draco’s wrist and began to drag him across the room. Draco, thankfully, was silent, stumbling along behind Harry as he pulled him through the tight circle of people- all eyes awkwardly diverted- and down the hallway until they reached the bathroom, unceremoniously shoving him through the door and knocking the light on before slamming it shut behind them.

They were both panting, and squinting slightly, the light in the bathroom harsh after the soft red outside. Draco looked shocked, which pissed Harry off even more- it was his fucking spell, what was he expecting?

His chest heaved, mind whirling, unsure of his next move now that they were alone; could feel the spell mingling uncomfortably with the blood pumping through his veins.

Draco was still uncharacteristically silent, eyes wary but feelings evident through the distinctive bulge in his trousers. He shifted under Harry’s gaze, self consciously crossing one leg over the other, and something inside Harry snapped.

With a rough growl, he pinned Draco against the vanity, ignoring his yelp of surprise, _finally_ sinking his teeth into the willowy curve of his neck. The bitter tang of sweat- and underneath, something sweeter, something he recognised- burst across his tongue as he sucked on the soft skin, biting and soothing until Draco began to shift underneath him, moaning softly, head lolling to one side, hips rolling lazily against the thigh Harry had shoved between his legs.

Still, it wasn’t enough, and Harry’s hands felt empty, aching, the need to touch every part of Draco, to grab and pull and rub almost maddening. Without preamble, he shoved them both under the tight waistband of Draco’s trousers, filling his palms with the taut muscle of Draco’s arse and squeezing roughly, massaging his cheeks in broad circles as he began to nose his way down Draco’s chest, exposed by his open shirt, revelling in the feel of him as if this wasn’t a man he’d fucked a thousand times before. It felt different, somehow, _better_ , and he assumed it was the spell, heightening sensations he’d apparently taken for granted before.

He reckoned he should have felt angrier, pondering the thought as he ran his tongue over a tight, pink nipple, humming as Draco arched with a gasp against his mouth, hands now clutching at his hair. He sucked on it absentmindedly, feeling strangely calm, the uncomfortable, prickly feeling gone, sedated now that he had Draco so close. Turning his attention to the other nipple, he lapped at it, still kneading Draco’s arse with a bruising grip, before sliding a finger between his cheeks to pet at his tiny, furled hole.

“Merlin, Harry, _fuck!_ ”, Draco cried, spine straightening in shock, relinquishing his grip in Harry’s hair to clutch at his arms, eyes wide. “Give me some warning before you—”

Harry was barely listening, using the opportunity to peel the clingy leather over the curve of his arse, shoving it down to his thighs and spinning him so that they were both stood facing the large mirror above the sink.

Or, rather, Harry stood; Draco was slumped against his chest, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Their eyes locked in the mirror and the spell took control once again, forcing Harry forward so that he had Draco pressed against the bathroom unit, head still spinning, desperation creeping in.

“Here, put your hands here,” he mumbled against Draco’s nape, manoeuvring his arms until both hands were planted on either side of the sink, before sliding his own back down Draco’s sides so they rested on his arse. Prising his cheeks apart, his mouth began to water, wanting nothing more than to fall to his knees and bury his tongue between them, but knowing they had no time.

Vaguely aware of voices outside the room, Harry thumbed at Draco’s hole, using his other hand to cast a quick locking charm on the door. Draco wiggled his hips, rocking slightly on his heels, just enough that the tip of Harry’s thumb slipped inside, and he swore as Draco clenched around him. Heart pounding in his ears, he clumsily conjured some lube, whispering a gentle cleansing charm before pushing his middle finger straight in to the second knuckle, inching it slowly in and out, hypnotised by the way Draco’s body seemed to cling to him, as if the spell was affecting them both.

“Fucking add another one, don’t prat around, Potter”, Draco hissed, back dipping, so Harry pulled his finger out before working two in, twisting them down until he could feel the throbbing nub of Draco’s prostate. He rubbed the tips of his fingers over it roughly, cock straining at the low groan Draco let out, his head dropping forward so that it hung between his shoulders, exposing the back of his neck where a dark flush was creeping.

“Potter, will you hurry _up_ —”

“Going fuck you, Draco,” Harry assured, “Going to make you _beg_ for it—” Draco whimpered and Harry’s face heated, his inebriated brain finally catching up. He didn’t know what had come over him; Draco’s spell had clearly loosened his tongue, reducing him to a mindless dolt, words tumbling before he could think them through.

Make him _beg_ for it? Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Whenever you’re ready, then,” Draco panted, interrupting Harry’s inner thoughts as he rutted his cock against thin air, “it’s not like you to take so bloody long—”

Harry pulled his fingers out slightly, ignoring the subtle jibe, before adding a third, fucking them back in hard enough to shut him up. Draco squirmed, gasping hoarsely, fingers scrabbling against the marble counter, heels noisy as he kicked at the tiled floor.

“It’s been a while, Draco. I’m just being _nice_.” He punctuated his words with a hard press against Draco’s prostate, earning a sharp cry from him. Harry leant forward, bracing himself against the sink, his other arm pumping so quickly Draco’s arse began to lift.

“Have you missed it, Draco?" He breathed hotly against his ear, "is that why we’re here? You need it that badly, this is what you’ve been reduced to?”

Draco groaned, head rising to stare at him through the mirror in front as he fucked himself on Harry’s fingers. “I don’t… _Merlin_ , Potter…I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Oh, save it,” Harry snarled, pulling his fingers out to a whimper from Draco, unbuttoning his trousers and hissing with relief as his cock finally sprung free. He eased down the foreskin, conjuring more lube and giving himself a quick stroke, before gripping the base to keep his impending orgasm at bay. The damn spell had him hornier than a teenager, ready to burst after a single touch- he hadn’t felt this desperate for years, and he took hold of his cock in a trembling hand, rubbing the head over Draco’s quivering hole, smearing pre-come between his cheeks.

Feeling slightly delirious, Harry guided himself forward, pressing slowly into Draco, who’s arse, after a second of resistance, sucked in the head of his cock with an obscene squelch. Harry shuddered, hips bucking involuntarily, sliding halfway into Draco, who let out another low sound, his own hips circling slowly. Inch by inch, Harry moved deeper into him, cursing as Draco's inner muscles tightened around his cock.

He waited for Draco to adjust, pausing for a second longer to admire the way he began to rut back against him, patience clearly wearing thin. Palms sweating, Harry began a steady rhythm, thrusting into Draco over and over and over until they were both groaning loudly.

“Harder,” Draco choked out, knuckles white where he was gripping the curve of the sink, eyes on Harry's as they moved together. “Please, I need you to fuck me harder—oh _God_.” Harry complied happily, practically bouncing off of Draco’s arse, sliding a hand underneath his outstretched arms to tug on a pink, hardened nipple, drawing a loud keen from Draco.

“Fuck, Draco, I can’t—” voice breaking, Harry released the grip he had on Draco’s chest to wrap a hand around his neck, forcing his head up so that their eyes remained connected in the mirror, splaying his fingers across Draco’s slender throat to hold him in place.

He watched as Draco’s eyes, hooded with desire, fluttered shut, spit-slicked lips parted on a silent cry as Harry nudged his prostate with every thrust of his hips. He didn’t know where to look, torn between watching ecstasy bloom across Draco's face, or watching his own cock as it disappeared again and again between Draco’s wobbling cheeks, his rim pink and swollen where it stretched around Harry.

His breath hitched at the sight, suddenly ravenous; the sight of Draco alone made him hungry- he wanted to run his tongue up and down his body, taste the droplets of sweat that ran under the collar of his shirt, suck on the delicate skin of his arsehole, leave great big bite marks on his pale, fleshy arse. Instead, he settled for where he could reach, licking a stripe up Draco’s neck, pressing wet kisses across his damp nape, nibbling gently on his earlobe.

“You like that?” He growled, the slap of skin on skin unmistakable as it rebounded off the tiled walls, one hand tightening on Draco’s hip, the other still wrapped around his throat.

“Clearly, Potter,” Draco bit out raggedly, and Harry groaned, throwing his head back, hips snapping frantically, uncontrollable, like a man possessed.

Cursed, even.

Clumsily, he shoved two fingers into Draco’s open mouth, who began sucking on them instinctively, cheeks hollowed, eyes shut. But Harry wanted to _see_ them, wanted to see if the desperation he saw in his own was mirrored in Draco’s.

Wanted to see the eyes he’d missed so much.

Wait.

What?

He stopped abruptly, pulling almost all the way out, ignoring Draco’s protesting whine and his own inner turmoil from halting the best sex he’d had for a long time.

Head spinning, confused, he looked at Draco in the mirror; took in his perfect cupid’s bow, his slightly turned-up nose, his sharp, high cheekbones, his skin, flushed and glowing. Harry's eyes roamed over the hair falling across his forehead, the shining white strands sticking to his sweaty temple, the silver pendant still swinging slightly against his scarred chest.

He missed him?

No.

_He missed him._

He missed him so much it _hurt_ , like millions upon millions of tiny needles were puncturing his heart, a large fist crushing his lungs, making it near impossible to breathe. His hand dropped from Draco’s throat to his shoulder, desperate to hold onto him because fuck, he never wanted to let him go. 

Draco’s eyes opened, blinking slowly, hazy with lust and slightly bewildered.

“Harry?”

He snapped his own eyes from Draco’s to where his fingers were leaving purple bruises on his skin, and then back again.

“What the fuck kind of spell is this?”

Draco, seemingly startled, shook his head. “I- what? What spell?”

“The spell! Whatever spell, or curse, you’ve put on me, to make me- to make me feel like this, to make me _want_ you like this, I don’t—”

Draco shuddered as he straightened, Harry’s cock slipping from his arse with a lewd pop, shoulders tense. Turning away from the mirror, hurt flashed across his face until he schooled it masterfully, clearly astonished.

 _“Excuse_ me _?”_

“You- before, I felt it, you cast a spell over me, or something, and I thought it was a sex thing, but now it’s gone too far, Draco, now it’s just _cruel_ —”

“Again, _excuse me?_ You think I’ve _cursed_ you? You really think I’d stoop that low, Potter?” He hissed, eyes blazing. “You think I’m that desperate for your attention, that I’d curse you to get it? Or, what, as well as the complex, you think you’ve been blessed with a hero _cock_ too? You think I’ve been so hard done by without it up my arse for a few months that this would be my first resort? Are you fucking _serious_? If I remember rightly, it was _you_ who approached _me_ this evening.”

His chest heaved, mirroring Harry’s own, seemingly unbothered by their half nakedness- his cock jutted out proudly, which, despite his confusion, Harry still wanted to drop to his knees and swallow down to the root.

“Then why- why does it hurt so much?”

Draco’s brows raised. “The sex?”

“No, you git- _this_ ," he gestured between them, “ _you_ , why do I miss you so much? God, it hurts just to look at you, to see you out there, especially when you look so good, my brain wants to fucking explode because I know you’re here alone, rather than with me, and I swear to God, Draco, I didn’t feel like that before I saw you tonight—”

Draco’s glare softened slightly, a new, faint blush staining his cheeks. “I can’t…I don’t…I’m afraid I’m not really qualified to answer that question, Potter.”

Harry took a step forward, and Draco took a step back, back bumping into the sink behind him.

Voice cracking, Harry continued. “I really- I didn’t, I was ok; I’ve only just packed the last of your things away, and the sheets, they’ve only just stopped smelling of you, and when I saw you tonight I just- I thought it was going to be easy, but then this bloody curse—”

“There _is_ no curse, Potter—”

“Well, there fucking _should be_ ,’ he shouted, making Draco jump slightly, pushing his hair back from his face and gesturing wildly, “because otherwise this doesn’t make sense. I was fine, Draco, I _swear_ I was fine—”

Draco reached out a hand, fingertips brushing Harry's cheek shakily before coming to rest against his lips, their eyes locking.

A heartbeat, two, and then something unspoken passed between them. Harry stumbled forward into Draco’s arms, which held him tight as a single tear rolled down his cheek, more threatening to overspill, everything he’d refused to feel for the last few months crashing down on him like a ton of bricks.

They stood together in a tight embrace, swaying slightly, muffled noise from the party outside now the only sound in the room.

Harry’s hair felt damp, but whether it was sweat or because Draco was crying too, he couldn’t tell.

Because yes, maybe Ron had been right to doubt him.

Maybe he wasn’t as ‘ok’ as he’d claimed to be.

Maybe he was really fucking miserable, alone on Halloween, wearing a stupid suit rather than their usual couples costume and pretending he was fine. 

Inhaling the musky scent of Draco's cologne, he began pressing small, wet kisses to the soft skin under his lips and Draco shifted, sliding a leg in between Harry’s, sighing as their cocks brushed against one another. Harry lifted his head, searching Draco’s shining eyes, and after finding what he was looking for, leant forward, pressing his lips to Draco’s.

It felt like coming home, the way Draco’s mouth parted beneath his, the way his velvety tongue ran along Harry’s bottom lip, groaning softly as Draco curled it around his own. A proper kiss, not a hard, vicious one like before- this was just as desperate, but for completely different reasons.

This _felt_ different.

Draco’s hands moved up and over Harry’s shoulders to bury in his hair, and fuck if that didn’t feel divine, and _fuck_ if he wasn’t still completely and utterly in love- curse or no curse.

They broke apart, breathless, and as Harry went to speak Draco stopped him, placing three fingers against his lips once more.

"I’ll admit- I haven’t been quite as put together as one might assume,” he murmured, and Harry snorted wetly. “But Potter, I would never—”

“ _—Harry_.”

“— _Harry_ , then- I would never cast anything on you, you know that, not to this extent anyway. Not only would that be a complete breach of your trust, of your privacy, Merlin, of your _well-being_ , but it would be really fucking stupid. You think I’m willing to risk Azkaban for a shag? I thought you knew me better than that.” His eyes, smudged with dark mascara, bored into Harry’s, who looked away, abashed. “I think you’re a horny bastard, and I think this is just love, Harry. It’s not a spell. If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say you…you miss me.” He looked slightly embarrassed at that, eyes trained on a spot just past Harry’s shoulder, so Harry grasped his chin and turned his face towards him, tilting up to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Of course I miss you, you idiot,” he murmured against them, tracing a finger down Draco’s cheek. “I didn’t want you to leave in the first place.”

Draco’s eyes met his then, wide and searching, before seemingly coming to a decision. “I didn’t particularly want to leave either, but I had no other choice.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco continued. “If this is to work again, Harry, something has to change. It has to be better. I can’t- I’m not living like that again, always feeling like second best—”

“But you aren’t, you weren't, you always came first, and I was an idiot for not telling you that four months ago. I was an even bigger idiot for not showing you before then. I lied, before- I haven’t packed any of your stuff away, it’s all still out, exactly where you left it. Please come home. _Please_ , Draco,” - he pressed a small kiss to the corner of Draco’s mouth- “ _please_ ", and another, to the other side, before trailing his lips across his jaw. Draco tilted his neck, giving Harry access, who peppered more tiny kisses down it, each one containing a silent plea.

“Yes, ok. _Ok_ , Potter."

“Harry. And really? You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious, you daft git. But you have to promise me.”

“I do, I promise, God, of course I promise. I can’t live without you, not again, not ever- fuck, Draco, it was so hard, I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone so much, to wake up and fall asleep every day aching with it and—”

Draco stopped his rambling with another kiss, and Harry sighed against his lips, the storm raging in his heart now calm. When they broke apart, Draco smiled softly, running his thumb along Harry’s bottom lip, plucking at it affectionately. “I lied before too, I suppose. It really has been rather dreadful, living without your hero cock for this long. Speaking of-” he glanced down, ignoring Harry’s scoff of disbelief, and wrapped a firm hand around him- “I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to.”

Harry decided to let the hero comment slide, instantly distracted by Draco’s firm, slow stroke. He moaned as Draco adjusted his grip, fingers now curled around them both, and slipped a hand beneath Draco’s thigh to hook it around his waist, restricted slightly by the tight leather that still clung to him.

“Wait- let me-" he guided Draco’s free arm to the smooth surface behind them, sliding his own on top to hold him steady. With his other hand, he reached beneath the curve of Draco’s arse, easily sliding three fingers into his slick, swollen hole, wasting no time in finding his prostate and jabbing at it intently. Draco’s head dropped back, eyes drifting shut, trembling against Harry.

“Harry- oh fuck, Harry, please-”

He began to writhe, whimpering as Harry curled his fingers into a tight press. Draco’s grip on their cocks loosened, the leg that wasn’t wrapped around Harry’s waist starting to shake.

"Yes, fuck yes, rightthereHarry _please_ \--"

“That’s it, it’s ok- I’ve got you, my love, you can let go."

Draco’s head snapped up as he came, Harry covering his lips with his own to muffle his shouts, hips bucking wildly as he painted their shirts with streaks of white liquid, staining the light material.

He broke the kiss, gazing at Harry slightly dazed, before glancing down. “Oh. Your hero cock didn’t come.”

Harry laughed loudly, gently removing Draco’s leg from his waist and placing it on the floor. "Would you stop that?”

“Stop what?” Draco grinned, before sinking slowly to his knees.

“Oh, no, Draco, that’s fine, I can just-”

He cut off, cursing loudly as Draco pulled his foreskin back, sucking the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth before pulling off with a pop. Refusal died on Harry’s tongue as Draco dipped his own into the slit, flicking at it with tight little movements, eyes raising until they met Harry’s. Wrapping his lips around the swollen glans, he began to slide down, excruciatingly slow, until his nose touched the dark curls at Harry’s groin.

Draco moaned as he slid back up, tongue swirling with practised ease, and Harry’s knees nearly buckled, an embarrassingly needy sound escaping from his throat before he could stop it. God, he didn't even care- he’d missed Draco’s blowjobs almost as much as he’d missed Draco himself.

Thrusting lightly- to Draco’s contentment, if the happy little hum was anything to go by- he gripped the sink behind Draco’s head, orgasm building rapidly. His arms shook from the self-control it was taking not to slam his hips forward, to fuck Draco’s mouth like he so desperately wanted to; instead he continued to roll his hips gently, watching, wide-eyed and slightly dizzy, as his cock disappeared in-between Draco’s reddened lips.

Draco slid a hand between Harry’s parted legs to fondle his balls, rolling them with the tips of his fingers the way he knew Harry liked, pulling off to run his tongue up the underside of his cock.

Abruptly, Harry came, too far gone to give a warning; he groaned as he jerked pathetically, stomach muscles rippling, his orgasm so intense he felt like crying for a second time.

Falling somewhat clumsily to his knees, ears still ringing, he caught Draco’s lips in a bruising kiss, patting his sticky blonde hair apologetically before using the last of his energy to wandlessly spell it clean.

They separated, Draco smiling gratefully, sitting so that their backs rested against the cool tiled wall. Harry reached over, pulling Draco’s hand into his own lap, playing with his slender fingers until Draco curled up against him, head resting on Harry’s chest.

"We’ve been in here a while.”

“Yes, we really have,” Draco replied on a yawn, tucking his head more firmly beneath Harry’s chin, who slid an arm around his waist.

“We should probably head back out. Party doesn’t finish for a couple more hours.”

“Hmmm.”

“So…no spell then? Not even a little one?”

Draco smacked his chest lightly, not even raising his head. “No, Potter, there is no spell. As if I’d need magic to get you to fuck me- I knew the leather would do it.”

“So this _was_ planned?”

“No, not planned…I didn’t know where you stood, if you’d even want to talk to me- Merlin, if I’d even want to talk to you. In saying that, I hadn’t forgotten your preference for leather- ” Harry chuckled, eyes drifting shut, arm tightening around him, “- so I suppose it was less planning, more amenability. I think Mother knew what my intentions were though, I dare say better than I did.”

"Oh, brilliant- so your mum knows we’ve fucked tonight?”

“We’ve been together for four years, Harry. We’ve shared a house for two. My mother isn't completely virtuous.”

Harry’s nose wrinkled, suddenly dreading his next visit to Narcissa; as if breaking her son’s heart a few months prior hadn’t been enough, she now knew about his thing for leather.

They lapsed into contented silence, relishing the afterglow, until Draco turned his head, pressing a kiss under Harry’s jaw. He shifted, fingers hooking through the belt loops in Harry’s now-ruined trousers, and Harry felt his eyes on him.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask all night…why the fuck are you dressed like an accountant?"

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is terrifying !! 
> 
> If you’ve come from Instagram, you’ll know this has been a long time coming, and I am ABSOLUTELY shitting myself hahahahaha 
> 
> Originally I wanted to publish this on Halloween, but unfortunately life/work/a bloody pandemic got in the way. It’s taken me much longer than expected, because I’m a perfectionist & spent a week deciding between ‘usually’ and ‘normally’. Lol. Also, I’m not sure if you noticed, but I absolutely cannot keep them apart for too long, which is A. why I couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason for their breakup and B. why they were clearly still in love with each other all the way through. Bless them. Draco’s dramatic move back into the Manor is VERY relatable though. 
> 
> Comments and kudos would be lovely (unless you didn't like it, in which case I'm glad there's no anti-kudos button)- and you can find me on Instagram ~ @drarry.darling ~ if you fancy reading some less explicit work, or would just like to chat <3 
> 
> I’ve also made a pinterest board if you’d like to see the images in my head visualised! Here’s the link: https://pin.it/1cIZjhP


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